The Falcon and the Flower

by Virginia Henley

  It had been an experience like no other because he had been aroused to the point of madness before he had allowed himself fulfillment. Falcon also knew he’d never have enough of her. Nothing would ever be the same again. He felt different; he thought differently. He felt fully alive for the first time in his life. Everything was heightened and he knew at his heartroot that she would belong to him forevermore.

  For Jasmine, death would have been preferable. He rolled off her to catch his breath. She lay still like a crumpled doll. Falcon felt a great surge of power. He was triumphant, invincible as a god. She felt like a doe whose flesh had been torn and impaled by the hunter’s arrow.

  He came up from the bed and she saw the small pool of blood upon the white sheet. She watched in fascinated horror as he dipped his great seal ring into her blood and stamped the sheet in half a dozen places with a crimson falcon. He was leaving his unmistakable, indelible mark showing the king, Chester, and the world that he had claimed the prize.

  Chapter 26

  Jasmine closed her eyes, too fatigued to keep them open longer. His kisses had been so demanding she throbbed all over.

  He dressed immediately, urging her to rise and do the same, but his words merely floated over her. He came around the bed and, kneeling down beside her, touched her cheek. “Pouvre petite, did you receive no pleasure at all from it?”

  Pleasure? her stunned mind echoed. She lay limp, un-moving, pale, lifeless.

  By God, he’d have to kindle a fire in her if they were to escape this place. He knew he’d have to make her angry. She had a fiery temper when roused. He set about deliberately to infuriate her. He slapped her across the bare bottom and said, “Get up from there. I’ll give you two minutes to get dressed.” He flung open her wardrobe and rummaged through her clothes. He pulled out a woolen gown and threw it at her. She ignored it and let it lie upon the bed. He realized it would take stronger medicine than his orders to arouse her temper. “If you are lying there in an attempt to lure me back to bed, it won’t work. God’s love, but you’re not much use to a man yet. Next time …”

  She was off the bed in a flash, hands on hips, teeth bared. “Next time? Next time?” she repeated like a demented parrot. “There will be no next time, Falcon de Burgh!”

  He hid a smile.

  She panted with hatred of him. He had acted like a brutal savage. Well, no matter how big his weapons she would find a way to return a more stinging fire.

  “Will you hurry, woman,” he urged.

  “Woman now is it, you silver-tongued devil? How I resisted you for seven long months is a mystery to me,” she flung sarcastically. “Now that we are wed the prize becomes the possession. You expect unconditional surrender. You, milord, are in for a rude awakening!”

  He was rummaging among her silken hose looking for a woolen pair. “Perhaps you should put on two of everything. You can take only what is on your back.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

  “Mountain Ash, of course,” he replied.

  “You’re dragging me off through those godforsaken Black Mountains I’ve been staring at all week? In that case I’ll need everything.” She threw open an enormous traveling trunk and began to pack her dresses.

  “Jasmine!” he protested.

  “Lady de Burgh, if you please,” she replied.

  He tried to hold his patience as she threw everything she could find into the trunks. He said furiously, “You do realize we are trying to escape with our lives? Must you act like a spoiled child?”

  “Yes, I must,” she retorted maddeningly. “I’m silly, spoiled, pampered, and what was it you said: not much use to a man. Well, more fool you for marrying me.”

  He picked up the ermine fur and she recoiled. “I’ll not wear that. I never want to see it again.”

  Forcibly he wrapped her in it. “You’ll be damned glad of that when the snow howls down the passes into Wales.”

  She stood facing him, her color high, he noted thankfully. She scooped up her hedgehog and said, “Don’t forget my pets.”

  His mouth fell open. “You’re jesting. Honey love, we can’t take Prick and Feather,” he said.

  “If they stay, I stay!” she announced imperiously.

  He threw open the door savagely and thrust the bird cage and the prickly ball at Montgomery. “Wipe that bloody grin off your face. De Clare, fetch that trunk.”

  About one hundred de Burgh men had gathered under the trees outside the stables. They held the horses their leader had ordered ready. They stared in amazement at the beautiful creature with gilt hair, wrapped from head to foot in white ermine. Each and every man wondered what use the exquisite little plaything would be to their master. Each and every man would have exchanged places with him.

  Falcon helped Jasmine into her saddle, secured the packhorses, and called, “Away, lads, ’t is past midnight!”

  “Nay,” came back the reply, “we’ll stay another hour to safeguard your back.”

  De Burgh’s authoritative voice rang out. “Then we’ll meet again at Mountain Ash. Watch your own backs, men.”

  De Burgh set a steady pace for he knew Jasmine was at the limit of her endurance. Remembering his ordeal of the previous day, he hoped fervently that the River Severn just to the west of Gloucester had not damaged its bridges. Once they crossed the great river, he decided against riding directly west into the mountains, but thought he would go to William Marshal’s castle of Chepstow on the Welsh border. With any luck Hubert and Salisbury would be there, and he would tell them plainly what he had done this night.

  The Severn seemed as it had always been and they followed its winding course for an hour. Falcon kept a close eye upon Jasmine, wondering at the pride that kept her erect in the saddle. The long day and night were beginning to take its toll on him but he knew he must keep moving. He stopped only long enough to reach up and lift her in his arms, then, holding her securely in front of him, he remounted and wrapped his dark cloak about them both.

  She did not speak one word to him, but neither did she make any protest. Gradually he felt her relax against the warmth of his body. Though she would have died rather than admit it, she was grateful to drop the role of Amazon, to lean back against his broad chest and draw from his immense strength. She resented that he was so unwearied, yet at the same time it made her feel safe and protected for the first time in weeks. She closed her eyes and drifted off. Before sleep claimed her totally, she knew she would never make the mistake again of underestimating him. He had come for her, after all. He had kept his promise to wed her if he wasn’t in Hellfire.

  To de Burgh’s ears came a faint sound that he had both dreaded and expected. The galloping hooves gained on him. He could tell there were at least twenty on his tail who had been ordered to ride him down. The road ahead forked in two directions, and he knew he had no choice but to try to outrun them. Neither he nor his black destrier could be seen in the darkness, but he cursed Jasmine’s white ermine in that moment, knowing the impossibility of their remaining unseen. And sure enough, a hue and cry went up as they were spotted. One way the road lay open, unimpeded. De Burgh knew he could make better time if he rode it. However, at the last minute he swerved to the right toward Deerhurst Forest where he hoped he might lose his pursuers among the densely growing trees.

  De Burgh gripped Jasmine tightly with one hand and she opened her eyes and cried out. His arm came up swiftly to keep a low-hanging branch from raking her face, while at the same time his iron-muscled thighs guided his destrier through the trees. The score of riders were so close he could smell the leather of their saddles and the heavy male sweat of their bodies, then to his utter amazement and relief he saw men swing down from the great oaks and elms onto the backs of his pursuers.

  He turned briefly but the darkness blanketed the furtive action behind him, although he could hear the screams of men and horses clearly enough. He did not allow Lightning to lessen his speed until they were in the very heart of the forest and all
about them was silence. De Burgh’s knife was already in his hand when Jasmine cried out in alarm as a man stepped forward into the clearing.

  “Sheath your weapon. It is I, Robin Hood,” a merry voice rang out.

  “Robert!” cried Jasmine, sagging with relief against de Burgh’s chest.

  “How did you find me?” asked de Burgh, amazed.

  “My men have been tracking you for days, across the breadth of England,” he explained.

  “Why didn’t they make themselves known to me?” de Burgh demanded.

  “Until now you needed no aid.” Robin shrugged, laughing. “Come, we have your packhorses safe. There’s a cottage through the trees and a warm bed waiting.”

  “We should press on,” said de Burgh.

  “Rest, if only for a couple of hours. I know how long you’ve gone without sleep.”

  De Burgh nodded and Jasmine heaved a great sigh of thanks.

  “Mary-Ann!” she cried as the door to the rustic woodcutter’s cottage was thrown open and the light from the welcoming fire spilled across the threshold.

  “Are you Lady de Burgh?” Mary-Ann asked anxiously.

  Jasmine nodded, but the situation seemed unreal as a dream. She swayed on her feet and de Burgh swept her up in his strong arms.

  “We have two beds,” Mary-Ann said happily, “though there’s little privacy, I’m afraid.”

  De Burgh grinned at her. “Since we’re all married here, there’s no need for privacy.” He lay Jasmine on the narrow bed. She was trembling uncontrollably from the ordeal of the past hours. He took off her boots and rubbed her small feet vigorously. Mary-Ann brought her some warmed mead and she drank it down gratefully.

  Robin and Falcon each shared a horn of ale and de Burgh thanked him gratefully for his help. Robin shook off the thanks and urged him to join Jasmine in the narrow bed. “I’ll wake you long before dawn,” he swore.

  Though Jasmine was exhausted, she lay rigid in the bed. The room was bathed in firelight, and she could hear Robin and Mary-Ann murmuring softly in the other bed. Each time Robin and Mary-Ann’s eyes had met, it was like bound lovers claiming each other. Why couldn’t she have found a love like that? Finally it was all too much for her and the tears came unbidden. Falcon gathered her in his safe, protective embrace and allowed her tears to run their full course until she slept against him in exhaustion.

  It seemed to Jasmine that no sooner had she closed her eyes than de Burgh was shaking her rudely awake. The two couples shared ale and oatcakes and the girls made their tearful good-byes to each other.

  Jasmine whispered to Mary-Ann, “Have you no regrets?”

  The girl shook her head. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life! Falcon will make you happy too, Jasmine, if you will give him the chance.”

  De Burgh refused to let her ride her own mount, but ordered her up before him. She raked him from head to foot with a disdainful, black scowl and complained, “Robert always treats Mary-Ann with infinite gentleness!”

  De Burgh hid a grin and said, “That’s because he loves her. I hope I’m never fool enough to let love besot me.”

  “Oh! You are an uncouth beast!” she cried, and vowed she would not speak to him the rest of the day.

  Falcon held to a relentless, slow, steady pace throughout the whole day. He did not rest his mount until early evening. The sky was pewter-colored with heavy gray clouds. The bad weather and cold rains that heralded winter were following them west and would shortly overtake them.

  He hated to disturb Jasmine’s slumber, fitful as it had been, but he knew it was necessary. When he eased from the saddle she opened her eyes, startled momentarily at her whereabouts. He held up his arms to lift her down and everything came flooding back to her. She raised her arm and threw aside his hand. Falcon had the ability to infuriate her between one heartbeat and the next. All it took was a word, a gesture, or even a look.

  He bit his lip to prevent a fertile oath from slipping out and went to gather wood to build a small fire. Jasmine sat down upon a fallen log, her teeth almost chattering from the chill evening air. Falcon fed the horses, rearranged the loads on their packhorses, then took his saddle from his tired destrier and put in on the extra horse he had brought along, a chestnut stallion of good height. He returned to the fire to add thicker branches when Jasmine said in a reproachful voice, “I’m hungry, but I suppose a mere woman, must take second place to your horses.”

  He kept his face perfectly straight and said, “You are the woman, that’s your job.”

  She flared up. “Where in the world am I supposed to find food in the middle of nowhere?”

  He threw out a casual hand. “There is game in the woods, fish in the river.”

  She looked at him incredulously. Surely he didn’t expect her to help feed them? She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again.

  “There’s food in the saddlebags,” he said casually.

  “Oh,” she said, rising uncertainly.

  “Don’t bother, Lady de Burgh, I know how useless you are.” Her bottom lip thrust out and he dipped his head to kiss her. Desire raged within him instantly, but he held it in check. There was barely time to eat, no time whatsoever for dalliance. But he remembered every intimate detail of their consummation. What a sensual delight Jasmine had been the night before! Once he had her safe from danger he would indulge to the full the sensuality she aroused in him. He anticipated hours of pleasure when he would teach her all the ways a man and a woman could love each other. He would not be satisfied until he had taught her to have erotic demands of her own, until he lighted a flame within her that burned with the need to love and be loved. He lifted his mouth from hers and nuzzled her ear. “Useless now … but I intend to change all that,” he promised.

  When they had finished their meal, she refused to ride in front of him, and insisted on mounting her own palfrey. They stayed in the saddle until midnight, when Falcon saw her slip to one side in exhaustion. He lifted her down and lay her on the ground. She was fast asleep. Then he covered her with his cloak and sat down wearily to watch over her, his back resting against the bole of an oak tree.

  They were no sooner in the saddle the next morning than the heavens opened and the rain poured down. Doggedly they rode on, sloshing their way mile after wet, cold mile. Jasmine was numb with fatigue. She hoped he would take mercy on her and let her rest every few miles, but he seemed never to look back at her, he just kept riding for seven more hours.

  Actually, he was sick with dread for her. She was delicate as a flower and had been soaked through to the skin since early morning. What if she took an ague or lung fever from being wet and cold without proper rest or nourishment? Worriedly he glanced back and saw that her palfrey had come to a stop. Falcon spurred his horse back to her and saw that she wept helplessly. His heart ached for her. He had driven her so hard because he knew it was possible that day to reach William Marshal’s resplendent castle of Chepstow, which offered every amenity. He was certain they were within a mile or two; he could not let her stop now.

  A leader of men all his life, he knew there were weakening words or there were strengthening words to urge people on to achieve an impossible goal. He reached into the saddlebags and pulled out one of his cloaks that was merely damp and dismounted. He stood beside her stirrup and scrutinized her face closely. He saw the purple smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes, her bloodless lips, the heartrending droop of her shoulders. He forced amusement to his face. “I’ve never seen anyone so forlorn over a little drenching.”

  She lifted her whip to him, but he reached up and gently took it from her numbed fingers. He lifted her into his arms and stood cradling her, then he wrapped her in his big cloak and carried her to his horse. Again he took her up before him and pressed his knee to the side of their mount. As it moved forward steadily, he murmured in her ear, “Sweetheart, just a couple of miles farther is Chepstow. You’ll be able to see your father and I think you know Lady Marshal. She is a fountain of kindness and hos
pitality. You’ll be tucked up in a warm bed before four o’clock this afternoon.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “Truly?” she questioned between sobs, not at all convinced such a miracle was possible.

  “Close your eyes and when you open them we’ll be there,” he soothed. She rested her head beneath his chin, her cheek against his heart and fell instantly asleep.

  In the vast courtyard at Chepstow they had all come outside to receive and welcome the newlyweds. Lady Isabel Marshal and two of her maids were fussing about Jasmine, who looked like a little drowned cat.

  Falcon lifted her down to Isabel, a truly wonderful, kind woman. “Can you put her to bed for a couple of hours, my lady? She hasn’t had an easy time of it.”

  Isabel was always happy to have company. She was delighted to have the newlyweds for a couple of days. Lady Marshal, in her late thirties, was still beautiful, but she was also very maternal. She was in her element the moment she saw Jasmine needed a little mothering. She took her upstairs to the best guest chamber and ordered a fire be lighted immediately. Jasmine let the maids strip off her soggy garments and wrap her in one of Isabel’s bedrobes, then they turned back the covers on the big bed and helped her into it.

  Isabel came to the bed with a goblet of mulled wine.

  “When you awaken I’ll have a bath ready before dinner. Then you will be able to have a lovely visit with your father and tell us all about the wedding.”

  Jasmine drank down the warm spiced wine. It went to her head immediately. She held up two fingers. “Two weddings, Isabel … two husbands. I was married twice.”